Secrets of the Ancients
by Hawthorn Tree
Summary: The year is 1938 and Alfred F. Jones has just received a strange package from his estranged father who went missing just after it was sent. Determined to get to the bottom of it, Alfred embarks on a journey only to find that the stakes are much higher than he originally anticipated. Indiana Jones x-over theme NatalyaxAlfredxOCxNaziGerman y
1. In Which the Doctor Goes Missing

A lone man sat at a desk in an empty library, the only source of light being the desk lamp stationed next to him as he pored over century old documents like a possessed man. On a chain around his neck hung a Wiccan star pendant, the once-fine metal and embedded jewels glinting dully as they caught the light whenever he shifted to either stretch his neck or lean over to write in a small pocketbook lying open next to him. Far behind him a door opened and he quickly stuffed the notebook into his suit jacket's interior pocket before going back as he was, seemingly making it look like he'd never moved.

The clicking sound that accompanies a female in heels echoed through the massive yet empty room as a blonde woman approached,  
"Doctor," she scolded gently in a thick accent, "The library closed three hours ago. It is time to return to the hotel."  
"Hmm?" he asked, turning him body so that he was facing her but still able to keep an eye on his text, "Ah, yes, I suppose. Just give a moment to wrap up here; you wouldn't believe how fascinating this all is."

The woman smiled and nodded before turning to leave the way she came, not wanting to interrupt the man any more than she already had. As soon as she was through the doors from whence she came the doctor pulled back out the pocketbook and made some hurried finishing touches to the contents within. Once he was content, he snapped it shut and wrapped a rubber band around it before gently placing it in a large manila envelope he'd retrieved from beneath a large volume sitting precariously near the edge of the desk.

After the pocketbook he placed several yellowed pieces of parchment within the confines of the envelope along with a few pages he'd ripped from some of the books scattered across the desk. He felt rather bad about ruining the books, but it had to be done. Future generations might curse him for this, but it was for them he was committing such an appalling deed. Leaning back, he fingered the pendant for a moment, holding it up so he could gaze lovingly at it. As much as it pained him to part with it, he needed to.

"Time to separate the lock and key," he murmured as he held it against his lips. Then, forcing himself to be callous, he lifting the chain above his head and slipped the pendant into the envelope. Then, with an overwhelming sense of bittersweet melancholy, he sealed the envelope shut and picked up the pen he'd been using to make notes in the pocketbook. Once he'd finished addressing the envelope he stood up and walked over to the head librarian's desk where he gently place it into a wooden box meant for mail.

Once his task was complete, he then went back to his desk but didn't sit down. Instead, he pulled a revolver from one of his pockets and cocked it before taking a stance next to the desk.  
"Alright, you bastards," he snarled under his breath, "Do your worst. I'm ready for you."

The next afternoon an assistant librarian picked up the stack of envelopes piled into the box and ran them down to the post office where they were each mailed to their respective recipient. On the bottom of the pile was a manila envelope addressed to one Alfred F. Jones of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, United States of America.


	2. Chapter 2: Insert the Hero

Alfred F. Jones ran like his life depended on it, which, coincidentally, it did. Behind him he could hear the angry shouts belonging to the natives of a tribe in the Amazon Basin who just so happened to be warriors. And cannibals. And out for his blood. That thought alone was enough to make him pick up the speed, though he couldn't really go much faster than he currently was; that is, if he didn't want to smash into a tree of course.

Leaping over a stream he suspected to be hiding a gang of piranhas, Alfred was relieved to see ride still waiting for him in the middle of the Amazon River. Picking up the pace even more, the American started waving his arms frantically in the air and shouted,  
"Mattie! The engine! Start the engine!"

Matthew Williams lazily looked from where he was sitting on the pontoon of his floatplane, carefully making sure to mark his place in the book he was reading. Upon looking up however, the Canadians eyes widened to about five times their natural size at the sight up his twin running towards him with a pack of new friends hot on his tail. Dropping his makeshift fishing pole, Matthew scrambled into the pilot seat and started up the engine as his twin had requested. Truth be told though, if Alfred didn't hustle his bustle he'd be left for the natives to do as they desired with.

Upon reaching the bank of the river, Alfred threw himself in and started swimming for dear life as his new friends bade him farewell by blowing poison darts and shooting arrows into the river in order to keep any creatures that'd potentially harm him away. Unfortunately, most of them didn't have very good aim and came extremely close to hitting him. Good thing he was a good swimmer.

Finally making it to Matthew's floatplane, he grabbed hold of the pontoon, which was enough for the Canadian, who immediately started flying. Good thing Alfred wasn't afraid of heights either, because he spent the rest of the plane ride home soaking wet in the backseat of an open cockpit plane with a fussy miniature polar bear in his lap.


	3. Chapter 3: Meet Francis

Once they'd touched down in Philadelphia, Alfred and Matthew headed back to the American's classroom at the college to grab a few files he'd left in his office before they headed home and called in a day. Walking through the familiar halls, the twins greeted Marty, the janitor, who stopped them. Marty was a sixty-something year old man prone to mad ramblings that didn't make any sense, so when he warned the twins of a "blue-eyed seducer" waiting for them in Alfred's classroom, neither paid him any attention. It wasn't until Alfred unlocked the door and the two stepped in the empty room that they realized they should have.

"I am going to assume from your down-trodden expressions and lack of enthusiasm zhat your expedition was unsuccessful," the accented voice of Francis Bonnefoy rang out from Alfred's desk where the Frenchman had settled himself while waiting for the twins to arrive. The said pair were both tired and windblown after their long flight, though Matthew was certainly looking better than his twin. Poor Alfred was damp, cold, and stank like high heaven.

Rather than answer his uncle, Alfred simply grunted before knocking the blonde's feet off his desk. It was one thing if he had his feet up, but when someone else did it was a whole 'nother ballpark.  
Matthew, meanwhile, beamed at the sight of his father figure,  
"Actually, I did get one of the samples I was hoping for," he proudly said.

Alfred smirked,  
"And what's that?" he teased, "A new rock for your collection?" Matthew huffed at his twin's ribbing,  
"No. A piranha," he informed them as he held up a plastic bag housing the carnivorous fish and the murky water it made its home in.

Alfred nodded in sudden understanding,  
"Oh, so that's why you had the fishing pole. I was wondering…" he mused as he leant against the desk and pulled off one of his hiking boots. Turning it upside down, he dumped out some water and a rock about the size of a silver dollar. Then, picking up the rock, he handed it to Matt, who immediately dried it off and held it up to the light for inspection. Alfred had a certain talent for getting large stones from around the world in his boots and had long ago just started to give them to his twin, who'd never complained.

Francis watched their exchange with a small smile. Though he was not their father and in truth not all that much older than they boys themselves, he viewed them as his own since his wife had died several years before and he'd raised Matthew in the place of his real father.  
The thought of the boy's real father and reason for Francis's visit quickly chased away the smile and he forced himself to sit up straight and clear his throat, bringing the twins attention to him.  
"Boys, there is something we must discuss."

Alfred and Matthew both looked at him and then each other in confusion before Alfred gestured them all to follow him into his office. Once they were inside and the door securely closed behind him, Francis spoke.

"Two nights ago, your father disappeared." As soon as he'd said that Matthew's eyes widened in shock while Alfred snorted and mockingly asked,  
"Did you check his usual haunts? The library, for example?"

Francis gave the American a firm look before continuing,  
"He was in Venice, Italy with his assistant, Arlovskaya, at some sort of library when it happened. The library had long since closed for the night, but your father stayed behind. His assistant had told him it was time to go and left for a few moments as he finished up. When Arlovskaya returned, he was gone. No one saw him leaving and his hotel room was ransacked shortly after." Once his tale was done, Francis sat back and looked from one twin to the other, carefully gauging their reactions.

Matthew looked concerned and had a small frown on his face as he processed the information, trying to figure out who could have done it and why. Alfred, however, looked bored and rather skeptical.  
"You said this was two days ago?" the Canadian asked. When Francis nodded Alfred shrugged and leaned against the wall casually.  
"Right. And you checked the library?" Alfred asked uncaringly.

Francis bristled,  
"Yes, of course we checked the library! Why wouldn't we!" he took a deep breath and tried again, "Alfred, your father is missing. Surely that concerns you?"  
Alfred shrugged,  
"Wouldn't be the first time he's ran off without telling anyone."

"When did he leave you?" Francis asked before reconsidering, "On second thought, I would rather not know. Then again, now I am curious…"  
Alfred shrugged again, not really caring,  
"He left me in Sweden for a week on my own."  
"Surely you did fine though…" Francis said hopelessly.  
"I was eight years old," Alfred stated, "Anyways, I really don't think we have anything to worry about. I mean, come on. It's Dad we're talking about, what could possibly have happened?"


	4. Chapter 4: Family Relations

Over the years many had observed that Arthur Kirkland looked very young for a man with two grown twin boys. They were right, he was very young. In fact, he wasn't much older than the boys themselves. Arthur had met Alfred and Matthew's mother, a half-Powhatan Indian by the name of Mahonwa Jones, when he had been visiting America with his own father at the age of fourteen. Theirs had been a brief romance, as he had returned to England only a few months later. What he hadn't known though, was that he'd left Mahonwa in a far different state than he'd found her.

After the twins were born Mahonwa took it upon herself to raise them the traditional way and it wasn't until she died of small pox five years later that a shell-shocked Arthur discovered he was father of two rambunctious boys.

At the time Arthur had been nineteen and in the midst of his studies at Cambridge; all-in-all unprepared to care for the two. Fortunately, his half-brother, a flirtatious and rather excitable Frenchman by the name of Francis Bonnefoy, had happily taken on the challenge of raising young Matthew, leaving Arthur to care for Alfred.

Francis had alternated between raising Matthew in France and Canada, prompting the quieter twin to declare himself Canadian and change his last name from Kirkland to Williams for reasons unknown by all. He'd joined the Canadian Air Force for a few years before going to the University of Victoria and moving on to become the curator of the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archeology and Anthropology. At least, that's what he's paid to do. In truth he spent a considerable amount of time chasing his twin around and cleaning up whatever mess the American happened to make.

While Matthew had been raised by Francis, Alfred had been left to be cared for by a nanny until he was old enough to go a boarding school in New York. Arthur had visited occasionally and the two had actually been very close at one point, but time and distance had eventually eroded whatever bond they'd shared. When Alfred turned sixteen, he loudly declared himself independent from his father and with the help of Francis he'd actually done it. Deciding he was American through-and-through, Alfred dropped out of middle school and joined the Marines. Once his enlistment was over, Alfred had attended the University of Pennsylvania where he later went on to become a professor of archeology.

Nine years had come and gone since Alfred and Arthur had last spoken. Alfred had been fine with the silence, fine with being on his own. Heck, he and Francis barely even spoke anymore. Matthew and Alfred had met only Arthur's other siblings twice in their twenty-five years and it hadn't gone well. Alistair had ignored them, Marion had coddled, George had shrugged uncaringly before going back to his book, Mason had been civil enough, but Robin had almost immediately started a fight with Alfred, who'd retaliated by breaking his uncle's nose. Of course, it always helps that they're about the same age, but that didn't change the relation or lessened the lecture Arthur had given Alfred as soon as he'd pried the boy away from the Irishman.

Arthur and Alfred didn't speak; they rarely even acknowledge the other's existence. That was why Alfred was so shocked when he opened his mailbox and found an envelope from the missing man.

The American had parted ways with his brother and uncle at the University, Mattie heading home for some much-deserved sleep and Francis claiming he was returning to his hotel room, not that he fooled anyone. Both of the twins knew the Frenchman would be picking of a prostitute and not to disturb him until lunch tomorrow.

Grabbing the mail, he went inside, unlocking the door and tossing the mail onto his kitchen table before opening his fridge and fishing out an apple to crunch on as he prepared his dinner. Once his hobo spaghetti was done, he sat down on a kitchen stool and idly opened the other letters he'd received. Then, once he'd gone through them, he picked up his father's envelope and studied it for a moment. It was covered in stamps and postmarks from all over Europe, leading him to be surprised it'd gotten here so fast.

Hooking his finger under the lapel, Alfred opened it a dumped out the contents onto his counter. Raising his eyebrows in surprise, the American sorted through the array of documents before he found the pocketbook and pendant. Picking the pendant up, he studied it carefully for a moment before trading it for the pocketbook. Flipping through it, Alfred took note the various symbols and Gaelic phrases that littered the pages before setting it down and rubbing his eyes with a tired sigh.

"Great, just great," he grumbled before snatching his phone from its place on his wall and dialing Matthew's number. They were headed to Europe. After the dragged Francis away from his flavor of the day.


End file.
